


plea from a cat named timothy

by drakefeathers



Series: timcat [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Catlad, Batman: Heart of Hush, Catlad!Tim, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29114907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakefeathers/pseuds/drakefeathers
Summary: Jason has returned to Gotham. Things are not the same.--"After you woke up, why didn’t you come back home?" Tim asks. "It didn’t have to end up this way. Even if you were too mad at him, you could have come to me and Selina. I would have helped you. You were my friend…”“But not anymore,” Jason finishes for him.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: timcat [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136180
Comments: 5
Kudos: 139





	plea from a cat named timothy

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this follow-up like 30% finished for years... I'm not super into this AU anymore but people have asked for it and finally I decided why not!! a weight off my chest. this is it though.
> 
> There's also an extra ending scene I added to the original work so maybe backtrack to check that out, it will make a bit more sense that way <<<

* * *

“Well, this is a familiar scene,” Jason declares as he steps out of the shadows and through the office doorway, startling Tim—he jumps like a spooked cat behind the desk, hands clattering against the keyboard. Jason smiles inside his helmet. He couldn’t resist. “Just like the good old days, huh, Catboy?”

Tim sighs in exasperation, typing frantically to fix his mistake. “I don’t have time for this,” he hisses. “You’d better leave, _now_ , before I make you regret showing your face.”

“Geez, kitty cat. I didn’t come here for trouble, just to talk to you.” Arms crossed, Jason leans against the side of the desk. “Is this any way to treat your old friend, back from the dead?”

Tim bristles at that. “You’re not my friend. Not anymore.” His gaze flicks up from the computer screen for a split second, eyes narrowed behind yellow goggles. “You attacked Batman. All you’ve done since you showed up is cause problems and _kill people_. I don’t want to talk to you; I never want to talk to you again.”

“Fine. In that case, I’ll just leave. With this.” Jason holds up a flash drive. That gets Tim’s attention. He stops typing, the hurried clacking of the keyboard ending abruptly. “That’s right. I got here about half an hour ago and pulled this data from the servers, then wiped them. You aren’t going to find what you’re looking for on there.”

“What do you want?” Tim asks flatly.

“Like I said, I just want to talk to you.” He slips the device back into his pocket. “But chances are we only have a couple more minutes before security notices something’s off and comes running. Why don’t we meet in our usual spot? Tomorrow, midnight. Come alone.”

A door slams—not far away, they must have even less time than Jason thought. When he glances back, Tim has already escaped out the window. Jason slips out into the hallway and follows his own escape route up the utility stairs to the roof. Outside, he scans the rooftops for Tim, but he’s already gone. 

An hour later, Jason is back home, or what passes for it, tending to his equipment and listening to police scanner chatter about a foiled bank robbery, courtesy of Batman and Robin.

* * *

Gotham has changed since Jason’s been gone, and not for the better. It’s been through a lot in the past few years, just like him, broken and rebuilt, scarred but still standing. The building where they used to meet has survived, but it’s now a pawn shop instead of a bookstore. Sometimes it feels like nothing good can last in this city.

A bird meets him on the rooftop, instead of a cat. He isn’t exactly surprised, but it’s still a strange sight to him, Tim in a Robin uniform. He looks older than he did in the catsuit, but maybe that’s just Jason’s memories interfering. He holds himself differently, though—standing taller, more confident, shoulders squared.

Jason would love to be able to call him a pretender, a fake, but he’s not. He’s Robin, through and through. It twists the knife in his back a little bit deeper.

“What’s with the double night shifts?” he asks casually, in lieu of greeting.

“ _Robin_ isn’t supposed to break into subsidiaries of LexCorp on a personal vendetta,” Tim points out.

“Does Batman know?” Jason taunts, in the same way they used to take jabs at each other as kids.

Tim crosses his arms. “I showed up. Will you hand over the data now?”

“I said I wanted to talk. So we’re going to talk,” Jason snaps. A spark of annoyance quickly blazes into a surging rage that roars in his ears. But he controls it this time. He forces it back and pulls off his helmet to take a deep breath of cool air.

“Fine,” Tim says calmly. “What do you want to say to me, Jason?”

There’s plenty he wants to say. He’s spent years thinking about it, arguing with Bruce and Tim and others in his head, planning out every sharp retort and devastating accusation. Instead, he blurts out, “You shouldn’t have become Robin.”

“I get it, you’re mad I stole your job—”

“No. That’s not it,” Jason interrupts. He frantically searches for the words, the rehearsed arguments, but they’re falling apart uselessly in his grasp. “He doesn’t deserve you. He’ll only let you down.”

“Tell me about it,” says Tim, smiling wryly.

“I mean it. You’ll think he cares about you, that you’re special, but then…” He remembers how it felt to have all hope quietly slip away as those numbers counted down, that pitying look on Talia’s face when she told him the truth, screaming himself hoarse on the floor of a grimy hotel room. “I don’t want him to ruin your life, too.”

“Batman didn’t ruin your life. You’ve been doing that yourself,” Tim says bluntly. Then, glancing aside hesitantly, he asks, “After—After you woke up, why didn’t you come back home? It didn’t have to end up this way. Even if you were too mad at him, you could have come to me and Selina. I would have helped you. You were my friend…”

“But not anymore,” Jason finishes for him.

Tim doesn’t respond. When did he become so unreadable? Jason wishes he could rip that stupid mask off his face.

“Because you have new friends now, right? Wonder Girl, and Superboy, and the rest of the new Titans,” Jason continues coolly. “Better watch out. It can all disappear so quickly. Being Robin. Being happy.“

“Jason—“

“Here. Take it.” He tosses over the flash drive, which Tim catches neatly. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll give up on being Robin—it’s not worth it. Go back to breaking into vaults and stealing diamonds with Catwoman. You’ll be better off.”

“Thanks for the advice, but I have this pretty bad habit of not knowing what’s good for me,” Tim says before he turns and leaps from the rooftop, grapple in hand. 

Jason watches him swing away into the heart of the city. “Yeah, I know.”

* * *

It still makes Jason’s breath catch in his chest, just a little bit, when he happens to spot Robin soaring through the sky, those bright colours hard to miss against Gotham’s grey smog and damp concrete.

The uniform is different now, but similar enough at such a distance that it almost seems like seeing a ghost of himself, the part of him that died a long time ago, still flying the same old patrol routes. 

Jason was aware how visible the colours were back when he wore them. He’d relished in it, some foolish part of him that hadn’t been tamed by Bruce’s training felt invincible when he suited up. Now, he appreciates them as a warning. Like every other criminal in Gotham, he’ll stop and scan the skies more carefully for Robin’s dangerous shadow, and decide whether he needs to head in the opposite direction.

But there are times that he sees Tim alone, instead. Not patrolling, but sitting on one of the rooftops they used to frequent as kids. No Batman, no Catwoman, none of his friends around. He perches there silently, looking out at a city barely recognizable as the one they roamed together years ago.

Eventually, he’ll heave a sigh and and rise to his feet with the effort of someone much older, bearing far too much weight on their shoulders.

Jason sits on his own rooftop a safe distance away and considers going over. But he knows he can’t—they’re not friends anymore. Just like the manor isn’t his home. And Bruce isn’t his…

He shoves aside that thought as he walks away. They’re different people now. 

* * *

It’s instinct, when he gets tackled from behind during a rooftop stakeout of what he suspects is a major drug operation—he pulls free, turning onto his back, gun pointed up at his assailant’s face. At Tim.

His vision flashes green as his finger twitches against the trigger, but he falters. Before he can lower his weapon it’s twisted painfully from his grasp and tossed out of reach. 

“Tim, what—“ Jason says as he tries to get up, only to be abruptly knocked down again and pinned in a painful armlock. Bruce never taught _him_ this one. 

The sudden aggression is startling, and unlike Tim. This is nothing like when they used to spar. Jason worries about brainwashing—Ivy or Hatter, or someone even worse. Or maybe Tim is just this mad at him.

“Where is Hush?” Tim demands. 

That surprises Jason, he certainly hasn’t heard that name in a while. “How should I know?” he grits out.

“You’ve worked with him before. You _helped_ him plot against Bruce. And now he’s...” A sharp intake of breath, and Tim’s grip loosens just enough that Jason could wrench himself free and turn the tables if he wanted. But he hesitates, again, and loses the chance when Tim tightens his hold. “Tell me what you know about him.”

“Once. I only helped him once, and barely. But, fine, I’ll tell you what I can. Just let me up, okay?” The pressure on his back lifts as Tim backs off. He gets to his feet carefully, rolling his tingling shoulder. “What’s going on, anyway? What’s he done this time?” The stricken look on Tim’s face means it’s personal, and a cold feeling of dread creeps over Jason. “It’s not Alfred, is it?”

“He took Selina, and he cut out her— her heart. He’s holding it hostage. She’s on life support, and she doesn’t have much longer. I have to find him.” Tim’s voice is strangled with desperation. Adrenaline seems to be the only thing keeping him upright—as it bleeds out of him he sinks into a crouch on his heels, head in his hands, like he’s being crushed. “I can’t lose her, too.”

“You won’t. Hush is an idiot, there’s no way he’ll get away with this,” Jason says. “And… I’ll help you. Okay?”

He immediately regrets it. Tim doesn’t want his help, and he shouldn’t get himself involved—it will only make everything more difficult. But Tim is crumpled and trembling, and— he’s _Tim_. As much as Jason’s tried to forget, to lock away those memories of nights spent exploring the city, getting into scrapes together, laughing on rooftops, he just can’t. 

Tim nods slowly and inhales a slow, shuddering breath. It takes him a moment, but he gets back up. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“Tim,” Jason says, standing from his chair in the hospital waiting room when he sees him walk by. “How is she?”

Tim lifts his weary gaze and, for a moment, stares at Jason like he’s a complete stranger.

“Oh. Hi. Okay. I mean, she’s stable, now.” Tim rubs at his bloodshot eyes with his sleeve. “Were you here this whole time?”

“I left for a bit, then I came back.” When they parted ways outside the hospital the night before Jason was still wearing his work clothes, including a blood-splattered leather jacket. Tim is clearly a bit out of it. “Are you heading out?”

“I just need to go feed the cats. They’re going to be so mad at me, and so will Selina, if I don’t get there soon.”

“I’ll drive you.” Jason snatches Tim’s keys from his hand before he can argue. “Otherwise you’ll just fall asleep behind the wheel, get yourself into a huge fiery wreck, and end up straight back here.”

Tim is silent for most of the drive, his face turned to the window. Jason suspects he might have dozed off. but then he speaks up.

“It’s so weird, isn’t it? Seeing each other off-duty. It’s easier when you’re the Red Hood, I can almost pretend you’re someone else.” He sighs, slouching further in his seat. “It feels like it’s getting harder and harder to remember we’re not just masks with nothing underneath, you know?”

“Well, I am legally dead. So it’s not like I’ve got a lot else going on,” Jason says wryly. Tim doesn’t respond, still staring out of the window. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Tim says unconvincingly. He sits up a bit, changing the subject. “I had no idea you waited so long, at the hospital. You didn’t run into Bruce, did you? He didn’t seem like he saw you.”

“No. It was a close call, though.” There had been an alarming moment when he’d seen Bruce talking to a doctor at the end of a hallway, and he ducked beside a vending machine until the coast was clear. He does wonder if Bruce _actually_ didn’t see him, though.

But he doesn’t want to talk about Bruce. Tim certainly knows that; he brought it up on purpose, drawing a line in the sand between them. And so, they spend the rest of the ride in a quiet truce until they arrive at Selina’s building.

As soon as Tim opens the door to the apartment he is accosted by cats, loudly voicing their displeasure at him as they wind around his ankles and claw gently at his jeans. One makes an escape into the hallway but Jason scoops it up and drops it back inside. Tim carefully wades through the swarm of cats towards the kitchen, where he fills up their bowls with food and fresh water. Most of them quiet down as they begin eating, but a few continue begging for attention rather than food.

One cat, a large grey one, brushes against Jason’s leg on its way to its dinner. He watches it leap onto the kitchen counter, surprisingly graceful for its size, a realization dawning on him. “Noodles,” he says. The cat ignores him.

Tim looks over. “Yep, that’s her.”

“She’s a beast,” Jason says, impressed. “What have you been feeding her?” 

“We think she might be a little bit Maine Coon. Just a theory, though.” Tim sinks into the sofa and massages his temples with his eyes closed. “I just need a minute,” he tells a cat meowing at his feet, then mutters to himself, “Ugh. I’d better clean the litter boxes before I go back, too.”

Jason reaches out hesitantly to pet Noodles, certain that she’ll rebuff him, but she arches into the touch. He smiles, remembering when she was small enough to fit in his palm. They’ve both changed a lot since then. 

“Thanks for taking care of her,” he tells Tim, over his shoulder. “You know, I really did mean to bring her home, once I convinced Alfred. I almost had him worn down, but then… Well.” He alludes to the rest with a shrug. The resulting silence makes him turn. “Tim?”

There’s no response. He’s out cold, snoring faintly. Cats are already climbing onto the sofa and snuggling in next to him.

Jason has some business to attend to in this neighbourhood tonight. There’s a truck full of weapons coming in that he’d like to hijack and drive into the river, or simply set on fire, depending on how the mood strikes him. He gazes out the window at the darkening sky, raindrops beginning to splatter miserably against the glass, and he considers just, _not_. Not going. Not bothering. 

There’s a big empty armchair here that looks awfully comfortable, and he’s feeling quite numb with exhaustion himself. Then maybe later the two of them could continue to talk, no masks, just as Jason and Tim.

But instead he leaves, quietly, through the window and down the fire escape, pulling up his sweater’s hood uselessly against the soaking rain.

* * *

Tim is sitting on their old favourite rooftop, two bags of fast food next to him. That’s an invitation if Jason’s ever seen one.

“Fries are a bit cold by now,” Tim says when Jason lands behind him. “I wanted to thank you, for helping me out the other night. I don’t remember if I did. I was kind of a mess.”

“You absolutely were.” Digging the stale fries from the bag, Jason swings his legs over the edge of the rooftop and settles in. “How’s Catwoman?”

“She’s recovering at home now, got out of the hospital a couple days ago. The cats were really happy to see her.” He sounds optimistic, but his face is still pinched with worry. Maybe that’s just how he looks all the time, now.

“I heard about your friends. Superboy, and—“ Jason cringes, hoping he’s not just making things worse bringing it up. “I’m sorry. About your dad, too. I wanted to say it earlier. It’s hard, losing people.”

“Yeah. I know.” Tim looks down, watching his feet sway lightly in the empty air above the streetlamps and cars below. “You did try to warn me, so don’t feel too bad.” 

“I didn’t mean that, back then. I was just pissed off.”

“You’ve been flying under the radar lately,” Tim remarks, deflecting. “Batman keeps tabs on you. We both do. You haven’t made any big moves in months. And when you do pop up in surveillance, there’s been a lot less blood and gunfire involved. Not that I’m complaining.“

Jason grimaces. Of course they’ve noticed. He should be more annoyed, but he’s just tired. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” he confesses, raking a hand through his hair in weary frustration. “I was so sure I had it all figured out, that I could prove to Bruce that he’s wrong, about everything, but…”

“It didn’t last,” Tim finishes for him, shrugging a little. “I could’ve told you that.”

“Guess it was all a waste of time. Don’t get me wrong, I would kill every one of those scumbags all over again if I had the chance. But, I… I really thought it would make a _difference_ ,” Jason laments bitterly. He tilts his head to glance at Tim. “You going to give me one of Bruce’s lectures on morality?”

“No. I mean, it’s not like I’m much better.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Tim sighs, and tells him a long story about time-travelling with the Titans and meeting less-than-friendly future versions of themselves. Including himself, as Batman, doling out justice with a gun.

“But that was just one version of you, from one possible timeline,” Jason says.

“I know, but... still, he was _me_ ,” says Tim, with a quiet sort of acceptance. “I’ve always told myself that if I felt like I was slipping, or getting in too deep, then I’d walk away. That I’d sooner quit and go back to a normal life than let something like that happen. But I guess it’s not as simple as that. All it takes are a few choices, and suddenly you’re someone you never thought you could become.”

Jason stands to leave. He sees where this is heading. “I think we’re done here. Nice talking to you.” 

“Jason, wait,” Tim calls after him, scrambling to his feet. “I want to help. I know you’re better than all this.”

He should keep walking, and get out of here before he does something he’ll regret. But instinct takes over and he whirls around just in time to forcefully block the hand that was reaching to grab his shoulder. A familiar anger boils in his veins and turns his voice into acid. 

“You sound just like him, you know that? Saying you can help me be _better_ ,” he sneers. “Where was all that help when I was digging myself out of my grave? Or!” he adds sharply, cutting off Tim’s attempted interjection. “What about when the Joker was going around gloating about how he beat my head in with a crowbar? Sure would’ve been nice if someone had stood up for me. Where were you then?”

“You have no idea…” Tim starts to say. His expression of stunned disbelief is quickly replaced with a scowl. “What about you, Jason? Where were _you_? When Bruce celebrated my birthday with a sadistic training exercise that gave me a mental breakdown, and I quit being Robin for three months? Or when Dick was spiralling and refused to talk to any of us? Or— Or when I finally had to let my dad go…” He falters, biting his lip as grief breaks through the anger.

Jason watches, frozen in place, as Tim fights to hold himself together, clinging to some composure. Jason knows that pain. He bears it still, like a scabbed wound. Warring urges clash within him—unable to turn and walk away, unable to reach out.

Tim eventually gives a small shake of his head, and fixes Jason with a steady gaze. “I spent so much time thinking about how different everything would be if you were still alive—and it turns out you _were_ , that whole time! But instead of coming home, you were busy planning how to fuck us over. I know that neither of us can change what happened, but stop pretending you don’t regret it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here talking to me.”

“You’re wrong,” Jason manages to rasp, his throat tight. “But… I do regret coming here tonight. This was a mistake.”

He leaves, and this time Tim doesn’t try to stop him.

* * *

When Jason hears about Bruce, his first thought is of Tim. What a terrible thing, to be the Robin that lost Batman. Could even be worse than being the Robin who died.

His second thought, he doesn’t remember. It gets lost in the blazing green inferno that comes roaring up from some deep aching pit within his chest. A madness that burns and burns, using his rage like gasoline, overtaking all of his senses, and he lets it. 

This episode is more ferocious than he’s ever felt—except perhaps the first time, after he learned the Joker was still alive. But instead of coming to his senses in a trashed hotel room, he’s lying facedown on damp pavement as handcuffs tighten around his wrists with a click.

* * *

Jason rests the back of his head against the wall of the prison van, letting it rattle his skull with every bump on the road.

He just doesn’t care anymore. The only thing he’s looking forward to is the amount of drugs they’ll pump into him at Arkham. He hopes it’s enough to make him forget all of it—Bruce, Robin, Gotham, even his own name.

When his limbs start tingling unnaturally, and he watches his bound hands shift into a ghostly transparency, he wonders if this is it. Perhaps whatever cursed force brought him back to life has finally let go, and he’s about to disappear for good. He closes his eyes gratefully.

it’s almost a disappointment when he’s jolted back to reality—landing hard on his back on the ground, solid once more. Seems the universe won’t grant him even that chance of peace.

“Good, it worked.”

Jason opens his eyes, and, despite everything, finds himself smiling at the sight of Tim in his cat gear. 

“What’s this about?” he asks as he gets to his feet. They’re in one of Bruce’s safe houses, one of the old, cramped ones that doesn’t get much use. Tim’s turned his attention back to the computer terminal in the corner.

“I’m giving you a chance,” Tim explains. Code starts scrolling down the screen, the text an alarming red. Looks like the data expunging failsafe sequence. “Because you’re my friend, and I’m hoping you’ll do the right thing,” 

Tim seems different, Jason realizes. That air of weary sorrow that’s surrounded him the last few times they’ve spoken is gone, replaced with a newfound determination. Tim turns away from the computer and Jason can see the laser focus of his gaze underneath the goggles.

Jason softly clucks his tongue as he follows Tim down some steps to the garage level where two parked motorcycles wait for them. “Unauthorized use of the Justice League teleporter, and to break out a _criminal_? I wonder what Batman would say. Guess it doesn’t matter now, though, does it?”

“He’s not dead.”

Jason blinks. “Excuse me?” he asks, loudly, as Tim’s motorcycle roars to life.

“I know it sounds crazy. But I think he’s alive—I’m _sure_ he is. I just need to find him.” He tosses Jason a helmet. “I want you to come with me.”

“Go with you, where, exactly?”

“Away from here, for a start. Then, I'm thinking out of the country,” Tim says cryptically. “If you’re not up for it, that’s okay. I can do it on my own. I just thought, since you don’t have anything better to do…” He tilts his head knowingly. “Besides, don’t the two of you have some unfinished business?”

“And _I’m_ the one they were carting off to Arkham,” Jason mutters, low enough that Tim can’t hear him over the engine. But he’s right—the promise of seeing Bruce one more time, and getting to punch him in his sanctimonious face again, is tempting.

Just thinking about Bruce makes green haze creep at the edges of his vision. He stubbornly blinks it away. Not again, not after last time. 

Tim is watching him expectantly. Jason doesn’t want to let him down—the truth is, he does have regrets. He considers the nondescript black helmet in his hands, and his reflection in the mirrored glass visor. He’s too fucked up to help himself, or accept it from others, but maybe he can still help Tim. He knows a path to self-destruction when he sees it.

Jason shrugs and puts on the helmet, flicking up the visor to smirk at Tim. “Why not. Somebody has to keep you from getting yourself killed. Don’t want you following in my footsteps, after all.”


End file.
